


List of Ways It Could've Gone

by isthatacatsherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Autism, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthatacatsherlock/pseuds/isthatacatsherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock could have told Molly she was beautiful that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	List of Ways It Could've Gone

There are about a thousand ways it could’ve gone differently, but first off, he could’ve shut up about the present. Christmas evening remained one of the most embarrassing moments in his life. Sherlock was good at talking- trash talking, specifically. Words were his victory. Guns were, too. But mainly words. He made sure he sliced everyone thin with them -not just John.

On Christmas evening, he could’ve shut up about the Christmas gift. He could’ve opened it and found an autopsied body part or a book. He could have smiled at Molly, perhaps noticed that, though small, her breasts were perfect and looked unassuming yet proud of themselves in that lovely little holiday dress. He could’ve appreciated her new lipstick that she spent 60 dollars on just to look impressive that night.

He could have smiled, thanked her, not been publicly reminded that sometimes he was the eyesore in the room, and that was going to be true no matter how often John made him feel like a best friend. Everyone wished he wasn’t here. Everyone wished that, were he here, he was different. Not such an asshole.

That’s why John gets people to love (though they don’t stay) and not Sherlock. An insufferable asshole. The school shooter had autism. It was the first thing he heard about the shooting- something missing in his brain. John had been in his bathrobe listening to the story while Sherlock dissected a hand from St. Bart’s when the news story came on. John didn’t look up, he didn’t find it unusual. Sherlock couldn’t breathe.

He wasn’t a pansy. He could manage to have the nickname ‘Freak’ at Scotland Yard because he keeps solving cases anyhow and they let him work - that’s all that matters. He could take the way John was slightly embarrassed to be around him all the time for things like not enjoying cuff links and ties. After all, John wants him around most of the time, and if he doesn’t, he leaves. 

But the news headline carried significance to the fact that Sally’s conspiracy theories about him might just be right. He could’ve been nice to Molly that night. He could have kissed her cheek and she might have kissed his and though he was clueless to the ten thousand offers of coffee before that were not butlery but requests for a date, he could have poured her a drink, offered her a seat. Other than that he wasn’t entirely sure what he was expected to do with a romantically interested Molly Hooper. 

No one loves Sherlock Holmes, though. Not in that way. And maybe Sally was right. Oh, he’d been an acceptable citizen for decade now- living in an apartment and, for the most part, not seeking out cocaine. Childhood- asylums, institutions, homes for the incurably insane, were far behind him, as was the electric shock, whippings, and general inhuman feeling of being in a jail they told you was really a home. He only heard other people’s screams in his nightmares now. He had a gun now. Oh, he had several guns now. And he helped keep England safe, as he had told a crying young boy two weeks ago.

So would he be the next one? Would he one day be the next one to put a body there? There was something missing in Sherlock Holmes, clearly. Because while he could have been nice to Molly Hooper on Christmas eve and poured her a drink, he did not. And Molly did not love him.

His rage usually wasn’t external. Internal - fear, the scratching on his arms for the reminder of how a needle would feel, disappearing entirely and refusing to speak for days. If he used a gun (on a wall) it was boredom. So was that young man simply bored?

Sherlock could have been nice to Molly Hooper, but he wasn’t, no matter how many chances she gave him, and now he didn’t know how he would end up.


End file.
